


Skin a Cat

by methylviolet10b



Series: By a Whisker [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack and Angst, Magical Realism, Major Character Injury, Whump, and there's a kitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, and the aftermath of the altercation remains in doubt. Written for JWP #29.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Definitely AU. Refers to two other stories, Hot Tabby and Paws for Concern - this will make a lot more sense if you read those first. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #29: Fraught With Possibilities. Use at least one of these as the inspiration for today's entry: brothers, cleaning house, tools of the trade, nightmares, friends in high places.

Two blocks from Baker Street, sodden, exhausted, and running for all he was worth, Sherlock felt a tremor in his right coat pocket.  
  
He ran faster.  
  
One block from Baker Street, he felt it again, stronger this time.  
  
“Not…now…” he gasped under his breath. He might have said more, but he needed every bit of air to keep going.  
  
Halfway up the stairs to their flat, it happened. Sherlock pitched forward, unbalanced by the sudden increase of weight on his right side just before his coat pocket burst apart. An instant later, there was John, wet, naked, and utterly unconscious, sprawled on the stairs with the ruins of Sherlock’s coat pocket presumably somewhere beneath his body. Sherlock barely managed to avoid crashing down on top of him, only avoiding doing so by grabbing onto the bannister with both hands. It creaked alarmingly as it took his entire weight, but it held.  
  
“John!” Even as he called his name, Sherlock’s eyes flickered over him, taking in the damage: the hematoma discoloring one side of John’s face; the growing shadows of bruises along his ribcage; the strained, panting breaths; the lingering tabby-markings in the sandy hair –  
  
Wait, what?  
  
Sherlock leaned closer, but there was no mistaking it: the tabby markings that were so prominent in John’s kitten-form were still there, faint but unmistakable, in the hair on John’s head. A swift glance down, and Sherlock amended his observation: in _all_ of John’s hair. He was absolutely certain that this wasn’t normally the case, but nothing about this night, or John’s transformation, was normal.  
  
He’d have to disguise it somehow before help arrived. Being found out was one of John’s most persistent nightmares, and while Sherlock highly doubted anyone he’d call in being observant enough to notice faint tabby-stripes – particularly given the distraction of John’s much more obvious injuries – it was worth taking precautions against, all the same.  
  
And he’d better get John into some boxers, at least, while he was at it. No need to court more questions than he was already likely to face about how John came to be in this condition.  
  
At least emergency medical services, discreet ones, were easier to come by than emergency veterinarian ones. Sherlock had friends in all kinds of places – high, low, and better not thought about – but even he might have had trouble explaining why he needed an emergency vet house-call. Or in the worst case, why the patient suddenly wasn’t a kitten anymore.  
  
Mostly.  
  
Even as he dialed emergency services, Sherlock tried not to think about what that faint hint of remaining transformation might mean. John would be all right.  
  
The alternative was unacceptable.


End file.
